


Tempting Fate

by Alaynes_Mirror



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I tagged it as non-con but, it's only brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alaynes_Mirror/pseuds/Alaynes_Mirror
Summary: Alayne Stone is wed to Harry Hardyng, but marriage isn't what she thought. Harry is enjoying female attention, but not from his wife, and Alayne has ended up spending most of her nights alone.Luckily, dogs make excellent companions.





	1. Part 1

Alayne stared up at the thin cracks spread like cobwebs across her ceiling. Her eyes followed their tangled paths, and her mind wandered to the possibility of a hot bath before bed. She felt the tickle of Harry’s hair on her neck and fought the impulse to brush it off. Her husband’s hands were gripping the headrest behind her head, and it shook with his movements. Wishing Harry would hurry up Alayne gave a small sigh, which he mistook for pleasure.

“Do you like this?” He gasped.

Making her voice sound slightly strained, she replied, “yes.”

Harry grinned, and continued with his thrusting motions.

Alayne always found it rather amusing how easy it was to deceive him in bed, although she hated the smug look he had afterwards, confident in his bedroom abilities.  
Alayne had always known anyway that these acts were for the husband to have his pleasure, and thus give her his seed, although at first Alayne had hoped to find enjoyment in them too. There were moments when Harry’s actions (and her own, admittedly) had brought a delicious, tightening sensation between her legs. But that was all.

Alayne did not truly mind this, as her feelings towards Harry had remained fairly neutral since they were married some months ago. He was not unkind to her and Alayne found him charming and confident, though she also knew him to often be selfish and arrogant. 

Her feelings towards her husband had not been helped when rumours reached her that the reasons for her waking to an empty bed were not, as Harry had explained, because he was up working late into the night.

Still, Alayne’s father had told her that all she needed to do was keep Harry content and satisfied. The night before her wedding Petyr had taken her aside and told her this; that it was key to his plans, for Harry needed to remain “unsuspecting.” Alayne was suspicious about Petyr’s wording at the time, but she knew he would never reveal his plans to her anyway even if she asked.

Alayne was then brought back to the present by the sudden load groan emitted by Harry as she felt his muscles stiffen, and then relax. He lay there only for a few moments while his breathing returned to normal then he sat up and grinned at Alayne, running a hand through his hair.

Alayne quickly smiled back. She took in her husband’s tussled hair, his softly-toned body, his blue eyes. He was handsome, there was no question about that, but that had stopped meaning anything to Alayne a long time ago. 

Without another word Harry got up from the bed, pulled on a tunic and began to walk to his study.

“My lord,” Alayne called to him confused. “Are you not coming to bed?”

Harry frowned at her. “I have work to do.”

“Oh, ok” Alayne replied meekly.

Harry shut the door behind him and Alayne hugged her naked body, feeling a little used. 

 

****

 

Alayne woke a few hours earlier to find the bed still empty. Alayne pursed her lips at the sight of the untouched pillows beside her. Harry seemed to find the idea of having just one woman warm his bed a little tedious, and female attention was one of his weaknesses, it seemed.

Alayne was too restless and irritated to sleep. She thought perhaps some wine might help, so she got out of bed and slipped on a loose gown and shawl. No one would be awake at this time of night so she left her room and headed down to the kitchens. All was quiet in the castle and Alayne enjoyed the feeling of freedom, not having to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. It was only when she reached the lower ground floor that she became aware of someone following her, out there in the darkness. 

Alayne could hear footsteps, and she felt a spike of fear, instinctively quickening her pace. She couldn’t help but remember nights like these in King’s Landing.

It was that thought that made Alayne stop. 

What was she doing?

That was not her. That had been a different girl, a frightened one. But Alayne would not be frightened. Not anymore. She folded her arms, turned, and faced the darkness. 

But then Alayne realised that one of the footsteps was lighter than the other, as though her pursuer had a limp. 

Alayne’s heart gave a flutter. 

“I know you’re there,” she called.

A low chuckle came from the corner of a doorway, and the form of Sandor Clegane seemed to melt from the shadows.

“More midnight wanderings, little bird?” He rasped.

Alayne gave a wry smile. “Old habits.”

He chuckled again and moved further out of the darkness. For the first time in a while Alayne noticed how much older Sandor looked now. The lines of his face were deeper, his dark grey eyes, tired. But Alayne was happy to see him as she always was.

“And where is the little bird flying off to tonight?”

“I fancied some wine.”

Sandor Clegane grinned. “A girl after my own heart.”

Alayne found herself smiling at this comment, and they walked side by side down to the kitchens. 

Sandor Clegane had arrived at The Eyrie a couple of months ago, explaining how he was looking for work and had heard there was a need for strong arms and those with combat experience to build up the defences of The Eyrie, come winter. Alayne had not believed this explanation but Harry had accepted it quite readily and taken Sandor on as the new master-at-arms. Alayne thought Sandor had ulterior motives for coming to The Eyrie, but he would not say.

Alayne had been nervous that Sandor would give her identity away, but she knew that he would never put her in harm’s way, and she trusted him. At first Alayne had tried to keep her distance from him anyway, as an extra precaution, but she found herself drawn to his presence in the castle. They were like magnets, always unconsciously searching for one another, finding excuses to pass words throughout the day. Over time they had kindled a deep friendship and it was the thing Alayne treasured the most. 

Sandor was the only person she did not have to act or pretend around. There was a mutual understanding of one another and it meant she could speak openly and honestly with him, something that meant more to Alayne than she could ever say. Occasionally less innocent thoughts of Sandor would wander through Alayne’s mind, but she mostly tried to ignore this extra complication. 

They reached the kitchens and found them deserted, as Alayne had expected. She set about lighting a few small candles and looking for some wine. 

“You’ll join me, I take it?” She asked, taking down a dusty bottle from one of the cupboards.

“Aye,” Sandor sighed, settling into one of the chairs. “I might just do that.”

Alayne poured out two glasses of wine, and sat opposite Sandor. He took a long draught of his before setting it down but Alayne knocked the whole glass back in one go, then set about getting another.

Sandor raised his eyebrow. “Long night?” 

“The usual,” Alayne sighed.

“Who is it tonight?”

Alayne pondered this. “My prime suspect is that serving girl with the curly hair. She laughed just a _little_ too hard at his jokes this morning, and he was definitely getting an eyeful of her... _features._ ”

Sandor snorted. “Can’t blame him for that, her teats are huge.”

Alayne frowned at this comment and felt a pang in her chest. “Then why aren’t you drinking with her instead?”

Sandor studied Alayne for a moment. “Not my type,” he said finally, taking another swig of his wine. 

Alayne’s curiosity prickled. “well, what is your type?”

Sandor leaned across the table. “Why are you suddenly so interested, girl?”

“No reason,” Alayne replied, defensively.  
“Besides,” Sandor said, in his familiar growl. “You’re one to talk. Not had much luck with men have you, little bird?”

Alayne knew the comment was intended as a joke but the reality of the statement saddened her. 

“I suppose not,” she said quietly.

Sandor sighed. “You know your husband is a cunt, don’t you.”

The bluntness of this statement made Alayne laugh and it felt good, she felt lighter.

“Besides if he wasn’t then you wouldn’t be able to have these little drinking sessions with your old dog then, would you?”

“That’s true, I wouldn’t want that.”  
“It’s his fucking fault anyway - most men would cut off one of their balls to be with you for the night, little bird.”

Alayne laughed again, and felt herself go pink. “What a beautiful way you have with words, Clegane. Why have I never noticed that before?”

Sandor took in Alayne’s pretty pink cheeks, her big blue eyes. He was still amazed she was able to sit with him like this, so relaxed, so trusting. So fucking lovely.

_Harry really is a cunt,_ Sandor thought.

“Well, I suppose I’d better take you back to your room now, little bird,” he said, heaving a sigh.

She grinned. “Just like old times.”

Sandor gave a bark of laughter. “Aye, just like old times.”

The walk back to Alayne’s room felt short as she talked with Sandor and heard his opinions on various political issues and events. Alayne was enjoying his company so much that at first she didn’t even notice she was outside her door.

“Thank you for escorting me back.”

“Enough chirping and get inside,” Sandor said gruffly.

Alayne smiled and opened her door. 

She then felt Sandor’s hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her through the door, and a strange jolt shot through her body at his touch, her spine seemed to arch in response. 

She turned to look at him, heart thumping. Sandor seemed to have felt it too because he was staring back at her. They stayed like that for several moments before Alayne broke the silence.

“W-well,” she stammered. “Goodnight.”

She slipped into her room and shut the door behind her. Harry was still not back and Alayne was relieved, she wanted to be alone. Her mind was racing. She climbed into bed and tried to sleep but her mind was too preoccupied with the feel of Sandor’s fingertips on her body, and it was a few hours until she finally dropped into a fitful sleep.

 

****

“Are you ok, Alayne? You look a little peaky.”

Alayne sat up in bed, squinting in the early morning sunshine as it came through a gap in the drapes. Harry was looking at her from the foot of the bed, a scroll of parchment in one hand.

“I’m fine, I just did not sleep well,” she said, climbing out from under her quilt. “What are your plans for today, my lord?”

Harry sighed. “Nothing too exciting, I’ve got to check up on Clegane and his progress with our new recruits.”

Alayne flinched. It was so strange hearing Sandor’s name tumble so carelessly from her husband’s lips. She wanted to snatch it back from him and protect it. 

“I think he’ll make a good trainer,” Harry seemed thoughtful for a moment. “Your father tells me he used to work for the Lannisters, but I must say he looks a little worst for ware these days, what with that limp of his.”

Alayne glared at him. She wanted to tell Harry that Sandor was the strongest warrior in all of Westeros, even with his limp. She wanted to tell him he could best anyone in combat, that he had won against The Mountain during the Tourney of the Hand, and protected her from harm dozens of times.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Harry asked, suddenly.

Alayne blinked in surprise. “What?”

Harry was reading through the parchment absently. “Might be good for you to see how the men do things for a change, instead of all that sewing you women do all day.”

Alayne felt anger rise again in her chest. _You’d be surprised at what damage a needle can do, she thought._

She concentrated on shifting through her dresses and finding an outfit for the day, trying to distract from her anger. 

She took a deep breath. “Only if you think I wouldn’t be a burden.”

Harry continued reading. “Oh don’t worry. I’m sure Clegane will hardly notice you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Alayne muttered as Harry walked away.

She stopped what she was doing. Her stomach did a series of flips at the thought of seeing Sandor again after last night. She was excited, but gods she was nervous. Alayne closed her eyes and allowed herself to relive, for what seemed like the hundredth time since last night, the feel of Sandor’s strong hand at her back. 

 

****

 

An hour later Alayne and Harry strolled along the walkway above the training yard to observe Sandor and his training methods.

Alayne smoothed out the front of her dress as she walked, and fiddled with her hair. Her heart was jumping about at the thought of being near Sandor. What would she say? How should she act? 

How had a small touch had such an effect on her? After all she and Harry had once committed the most intimate and sacred of acts almost every night, and she had felt nothing. 

Now Sandor’s fingers had barely grazed part of her clothed body and she had become utterly undone.

Alayne watched as Harry walked a little way ahead of her, greeting the various guards along the way, then two young women came round the corner and at the sight of Harry they blushed and curtsied. Harry smiled and said something to the girls that made them giggle.

Alayne frowned. Really, _she was right there!_  
Letting out a huff of irritation she looked away from her husband and immediately felt her body go limp.

He was stood below her in the yard.

Sandor had his hair tied back to keep it out of his face while he worked, and he had no shirt on. Alayne hungrily took in the way his tight muscles gleamed with sweat in the sunlight, the dark curled hair at his chest, the scars that were etched up his arms and down his back.

He was frowning with concentration as he taught some of the younger boys how to swing their swords correctly. Alayne could hear it whistle through the air as Sandor brought it down on one of the wooden posts.

_Gods he is strong,_ Alayne thought. 

She wondered what it would feel like to be held by a man like that.

Safe, probably, she thought. And warm. And happy.

Sensing someone watching him Sandor looked up and his frown melted when he saw her. 

Alayne knew she should look away, or mayhaps call out to him. Perhaps comment on the fine weather they were having, or wish him luck for his training. Or tell him how fit and strong she thought he looked.

But she could do none of those things, only managing a shy smile. But then suddenly she heard her husband beside her, and Alayne realised he had been calling her name.

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. “I’ve been calling you for ages, what are you looking at?” 

Alayne was about to shield Sandor from his view but it was too late. Harry’s face clouded over as he took in Sandor’s open display of his physique and Alayne’s flushed cheeks.

Before Alayne could do anything, Harry had grabbed her by the waist and kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue pushing hard against her lips. She could hear wolf-whistling around them and Alayne was mortified, not to mention furious. She tried to push him off but his grip was too tight. 

He might as well have pissed on her like a dog marking its territory. 

Finally Harry released her after what felt like an age, and gave Sandor a satisfied smirk before continuing along the walkway without Alayne.

She wiped her mouth and looked anxiously across at Sandor.

He was glaring at Harry with pure hatred and rage in his eyes.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to a very short piece... but 5,000 words later and here we are!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it :-)

Over the next few weeks whenever Alayne tried to catch Sandor’s eye or talk to him he seemed not to see her, and on several occasions simply walked straight past.

Alayne was utterly miserable. 

She felt awful about what had happened the other day and wanted to apologise for her husband’s behaviour, yet it was more than that. She missed him. She missed talking to him, missed his growling voice, missed his oddly gentle tendencies. She missed the way she felt around Sandor, like she mattered.

Alayne was not sure what to do. She prided herself on her ability to read people and their behaviour, but Sandor was tricky. She understood him far better now but he was still so guarded, even around her, whom he seemed to trust more than others.

Alayne needed advice. If she had a mother she would have asked her. She would have curled up on her lap and put her head on her chest. Her mother would have put her arms around her daughter and asked what was wrong, and she would have told her, all the while her mother stroking her hair, soothing her. But Alayne did not have a mother. 

She knew there was one person who could help her though. 

Later that afternoon Myranda Royce came twirling into Alayne’s chambers in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter, telling Alayne of some gossip she had overheard from some servants on the way there. 

Alayne watched her friend fondly while she poured them both some tea. They debated the legitimacy of the gossip for some time, all the while Alayne prepared to ask Myranda the question that she had asked her here for.

As though sensing her friend’s anxiety Myranda stopped talking and looked at Alayne, a little concerned.

“I must say Alayne, you seem a little distracted today and you’ve hardly touched your lemon cake. Is something the matter?”

Alayne cleared her throat, not quite sure how to phrase her predicament without raising suspicions. She knew she could trust Myranda, but still had to be cautious. 

“Someone I am very... fond of,” Alayne began slowly, heat rising to her cheeks. “A man... he isn’t- listening to me anymore. He won’t talk to me at all, and I’m worried.”

Myranda made a sympathetic sound, and took a sip of her tea. “I wondered if this was the reason you called me here. My dear sweet Alayne, men are very simple creatures. You say Harry won’t talk to you?”

Alayne shifted guiltily in her seat.

“Well the way to get him to talk to you is by first _getting his attention.”_

“But that’s just the problem; he won’t even look at me.”

Myranda raised her eyebrows. “Well, can you blame him?”

Alayne’s mouth popped open in surprise.

Myranda sighed. “Alayne, we’ve bathed together. I know you are utterly delicious under those clothes, believe me you’re doing yourself a disservice by covering up those pretty teats of yours.”

She popped a piece of cake into her mouth. “You need to make it so that Harry won’t be able to not look at you.”

Alayne blushed and looked down at her clothing. Her dresses were plain, to be sure, but necessarily so. She couldn’t afford to draw too much attention to herself, though she had to admit she missed some of her more shapely gowns.

Alayne pouted. “Well what do you suggest I wear then?”

Myranda gave her a wicked smile. 

 

***

 

An hour later Alayne was looking at her reflection in the mirror and blushing fiercely. The dress was one from a different time, a different place, a different life. The colour was a deep sea blue and showed off her tiny waist. It was cut to just below her breasts in a way that seemed to push them in and accentuate their shape. 

Alayne’s hands fluttered around her chest self-consciously but Myranda batted them away.

“Stop fussing. I know you’re shy, and it’s very sweet, but you’re not going to get Harry back that way.”

Alayne felt a touch of guilt that it was not her husband she was dressing like this for, but if it meant Sandor would acknowledge her again then she was prepared to do anything.  
“Do you think it will work?” Alayne whispered.

Myranda snorted. “The poor boy won’t be able to walk after taking one look at you.”

Alayne flushed a deep red, reminded again of who this effect was intended for. 

She then looked back at her friend and saw a familiar drop of sadness in her eyes that was there whenever they spoke of Harry. Myranda had always had a soft spot for him, since long before she met Alayne and therefore knew what this was probably costing her.

Alayne took the girl’s hands in hers. “Thank you, Myranda. I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

Myranda gave Alayne a warm smile, and then winked. “Remember to tell me how it goes. And if you leave out any details I shall know!”

 

***

 

Alayne set off in search of Sandor. She knew he was probably in the training yard or in the High Hall. She tried to ignore the everyone’s stares, and preyed she didn’t run into either Harry or her father. She was a little uncomfortable at the fact that bumping into either of them would probably have the same consequences. 

She focused on Sandor, and the wonderful yet fleeting feeling that his touch brought her.

Alayne was walking along an empty corridor, and was just wondering how best to approach Sandor when she saw him, and what to talk about, when she suddenly found herself face to face with him.

Well, face to chest.

_Gods, he was tall!_

Alayne felt herself go pink. “H-hello, Cle-”

She had dragged her gaze up to his eyes, but when she saw how he was looking at her she faltered. She thought she saw a flicker of hunger in his eyes, before it disappeared with a flash of anger. 

Without saying a word he stormed off, leaving Alayne feeling dazed. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry.

She felt cheap and silly in her dress. She was helpless and alone once again.

Alayne’s eyes snapped open.

_No,_ she thought, fiercely. _I will not be helpless again._

Alayne turned and broken into a run after Sandor, not caring who was looking at her.

“Sandor Clegane, I order you to stop!” Alayne yelled, her voice high but strong.

Sandor’s step faltered at this instruction. Perhaps it was his training that made him automatically accept any command, or perhaps it was that it was coming from Alayne.

She glared up at Sandor who still would not meet her eye. Alayne grabbed his arm and pulled him (with difficulty) into a small dark room just off the corridor, normally used for more private audiences.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

Sandor was grinding his teeth and determinedly looking away. 

“Why won’t you talk to me anymore? I’m sorry for the way Harry acted in the training yard, I didn’t want him to do any of that. But you can’t just ignore me. I need you... Sandor.”

“No you don’t,” he growled. “Just leave me be, girl.”

“I can’t,” Alayne whispered.

Suddenly without warning Sandor grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

“I said leave me alone, little bird, if you know what’s good for you,” he snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “If you don’t I’ll cut your throat, I’ll break that pretty neck of yours and you’ll never sing again.”

Alayne did not like him talking to her like that, but she felt no fear. Despite all his threats she knew Sandor would never cross that line. She understood him, she knew his fears, his secrets. When the world was on fire they had looked at each other, and she knew. She knew it all. 

Alayne glared at him. “You don’t scare me, Sandor. It doesn’t work on me anymore.” 

Sandor gave a cruel grin, “I’ll make you scared, girl.”

He pushed her roughly up against the wall, his body pressed against hers. He was so close now she could see the whites in his eyes, feel his breath on her lips. Alayne’s heart was racing. Her feelings were chaotic and messy. She could not ignore how it felt with his armour rubbing against her breasts, or how close his lips were to hers. But she was also angry at him for trying to scare her like this when it would never work again. He had broken that spell long ago.

“I could make you scream, girl,” he rasped in her ear. “I could make you beg. I could do whatever I liked to you right here and now, and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

Alayne knew that Sandor would never rape her, or hurt her in any other way, but she was angry at him for using it as a threat. And little did he know how much his words had described her circumstances so many times in her life.

Alayne was consumed by this thought and she felt a searing rage inside of her, and summoned all her bastard bravery 

“I would fuck you right back,” she snapped.

Silence.

Sandor blinked.

The two of them did not move or say anything, merely stared at each other. Slowly Sandor loosened his grip on Alayne and backed away. He looked down at his hands.

Sandor gave a sad laugh. “This is why you can’t be around me anymore.”

“Why not?” Alayne cried.

“Just look at me!” He yelled. “Look at what I do to you, what I fucking say. You come to me looking like the finest fucking creature I’ve ever seen in my whole life and I know I can never have you. It’s only a damn reminder of what a fucking monster I am.”

Alayne stared at him, words failing her.

Sandor was breathing heavily, shoulders hunched.

“You’re not a monster,” she whispered.

She stepped towards him.

“You could never be a monster.”

He looked at her warily.

“You can shout at me all you want. You can throw things, you can wreck this whole room. But I know who you are and I know that I am safe with you. You can get angry or upset. But please don’t go, Sandor, please don’t ignore me.” Alayne’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Sandor’s eyes were wide with fear, but there was a softness there too. He looked _vulnerable._

Alayne reached up and took Sandor’s face in her hands. She gently pressed her lips to his.

Sandor kissed Alayne, and Sansa kissed him back.

One of his hands came up to curl in her long hair, the other at her back. Sansa felt that something had been woken inside her, an insatiable light, she felt _alive._ Every nerve tingled, every sensation sang out. Everywhere Sandor touched reacted with pure joy. How different it was to anything else she had ever known. She seemed to blossom beneath his fingertips, his lips. She brought her arms round Sandor’s neck, desperate to have him as close to her as possible. 

She pressed her body against his, and there began a dull pulsing between her legs. A small uncontrollable noise of surprise and pleasure sounded out from the back of Sansa’s throat. Sandor gave a low growl and pushed Sansa up against the wall, kissing her hungrily. Sansa felt his tongue flick across her lips and she parted them, greedy to feel as much of him as she could, to know what it meant for Sandor Clegane to kiss her.

He then broke the kiss to gaze at Sansa, taking in her wild tangled hair, her flushed cheeks, her pink lips and bright blue eyes.

“Such a beauty,” he murmured, brushing the hair from her face. “Who gave you the right to be so fucking beautiful all the time, little bird?”

A ghost of a laugh formed on Sansa’s lips before it was swept away by another moan as Sandor began to kiss up her slender neck, the sensation of Sandor’s scars and stubble skidding across her skin adding to her pleasure.

Sandor’s hand came up under her thigh, and Sansa hooked her leg around his waist.

“Sansa,” he murmured, nuzzling into her neck. “Sansa, Sansa.”

Sansa could have wept. The sound of her name on his lips put the most beautiful songs to shame. 

She ran her hands through his hair, down his cheeks, along his jaw, taking all of him in. He pressed himself harder between her legs, and another noise escaped Sansa’s throat. The pulsing between her legs began to grow stronger.

“Fuck, Sansa,” Sandor groaned. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Sandor began to kiss in a straight line down her throat and collarbone, dragging his lips across her bare skin making Sansa shudder with pleasure. He pulled her dress down, exposing the creamy pallor of her breasts. 

“So perfect,” he murmured.  
Sandor dragged his lips against her breasts, his tongue twirling along her sensitive skin until finally, achingly, licking at her hardened nipples.

Sansa gave another moan and pulled Sandor’s hair, so strong was her desire now.

Sandor gave a low chuckle and continued to lick and suck on Sansa’s breasts. She felt as Sandor’s hand stroked along her lower thigh. He then yanked her smallclothes out of the way, allowing his fingers to run through her curls. He then pushed into her folds and Sansa cried out at the feeling. Sandor swore at how wet she was.

“You really do want to fuck me back, don’t you, little bird?” He breathed, looking up at her.

He pulled her other leg round so she was entirely supported by his arms and the wall behind her. Sansa loved how strong he was, how effortless it seemed to hold her like this. 

He kissed her again, deeply, his tongue rolling against hers. She felt him unbuckle his belt and let his breeches fall to the ground.

“Give yourself to me, Sansa,” he murmured.

“Please, Sandor,” she whispered.

Sansa felt so strangely _empty_ between her legs, she knew what would satisfy her, and was ready for him. With one swift movement Sandor was able to effortlessly push up inside her. The feeling was exquisite and Sansa’s head rolled back, hardly aware of the noises she was making anymore. He was so big, he seemed to fill every inch of her, yet she wanted more. 

Sandor brought himself almost entirely out of her and then pushed back inside, making Sansa feel dizzy with want. He did it again and again and again, until she could feel something building inside of her. Sandor’s kisses were everywhere: on her neck, her chest, her jaw. It was intoxicating.

“Sandor,” she panted. “Please, d-don’t stop.”

Through the haze of her want she looked down at Sandor and saw him watching her reactions hungrily, which somehow made Sansa feel even more aroused. Sandor brought his lips once more to her nipples but this time harder, his teeth and tongue scraping across her skin.

Suddenly the wave of pressure building in Sansa broke forth and she cried out. The sensation was stars and sheer wonder. Her hips seemed to move entirely on their own as she rode out the feeling, overcome with the feeling of being with Sandor.

The lights gave one last flicker and Sansa felt herself slow down, as Sandor gave a loud groan. He repeated Sansa’s name again and again, his rhythm hard and fast against her as a warmth burst up inside of her.

The two of them remained pressed against each other, their hearts racing, still languishing over the feeling.

Sansa gave a shy laugh, and Sandor lowered her to the floor. Sansa felt wobbly, but Sandor’s strong arms still encircled her, trembling though he was she knew he wouldn’t let her fall. 

Sansa pulled Sandor towards her and they sat in each other’s arms on the soft rug in the middle of the room. Sansa stroked Sandor’s chest, allowing her fingers to linger over the small scars etched into his skin.

“Come away with me,” Sandor said.

Sansa’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I promised to keep you safe, little bird. But I can’t with that Little-shit-finger creeping around. I don’t trust him.”

Sansa hesitated. Petyr had been kind to her, he had saved her from the Lannisters. But he had also married her off to Harry, and he had killed her Aunt Lysa. Harry, well, she did not feel particularly guilty leaving him. He had not been unkind to her, but that did not mean he was good.

And...

Sansa looked up at the man who meant more to her than anyone else. She could not bear the thought of not being able to kiss him again, to feel him, or even see him again.

“So? What’s it to be, little bird?”

“Yes,” Sansa whispered. “I will come.”


End file.
